Bring Me My Coffin Please
by roktavor
Summary: Illumi isn't supposed to care how Hisoka dies. (Rated for gore/injuries, and mild sexual content.)


**A/N:** Wrote this for the 'pinned down by wreckage' square of my Bad Things Happen Bingo card, but that wound up only being a tiiiny bit relevant - the rest is me getting a bit carried away with feelings, haha...

Title is from the song Messed Up by Once Monsters and Chloe Adams (particularly the line that goes "You'll be the death of me, so bring me my coffin please"). It's a p good HisoIllu song, imo!

* * *

**Bring Me My Coffin Please**

When Illumi stumbles across Hisoka, he has to stop and stare for a long moment, not entirely believing what he's seeing at first.

He even thinks maybe his initial assumption that this is, in fact, Hisoka might be _wrong_, but there's no mistaking it the closer he looks: this is _undoubtedly_ Hisoka, no bungee gum or texture surprise about it.

It's…exceedingly odd, though, this predicament he's found Hisoka in. Illumi tilts his head at the sight, peering down intently.

Because Hisoka getting caught in a position like this is almost unheard of, as far as Illumi is aware. Even though Hisoka _is_ the type to get caught up in all kinds of situations that he has no business being caught up in, they usually aren't…quite so fatal. There's typically some kind of an out left to him.

…Then again, Hisoka has a knack for being completely careless with danger. He flirts incessantly with it, as it so happens. Illumi has firsthand experience with this particular habit.

So maybe he shouldn't be so surprised to find Hisoka lying buried under rubble and bleeding freely from a sliced open neck after all.

Milluki's bomb was perfectly thorough – if heavy-handed – as usual, Illumi notes with a swell of pride.

But…why Hisoka hadn't bothered to vacate the premises long before the bomb went off is a complete mystery. Hisoka being Hisoka is probably the only reason he survived the initial blast and crush of rubble to bleed out later. Because he _is_ still alive.

For now, anyway.

Illumi estimates that he has a few minutes at most, what with how fast blood is spilling from that gaping neck wound. It's quite a ghastly thing, nowhere near even and clean like a knife would have done. It must have been carved out by shrapnel of some kind, near as he can figure.

Crouching down for a better look, Illumi is careful to stay as clear as he can of the surrounding red puddle.

_Ew_.

That's more gory detail than Illumi ever wanted to see of Hisoka's innards. Though, the way blood bubbles as breaths gargle uselessly in and out of a severed trachea holds a certain macabre beauty to it. The whole mess is a nice shade of red.

With that ailment, though, Illumi amends Hisoka's lifespan estimate to less than a minute. Only because he's Hisoka.

There's no reason to stick around and watch the finale – Illumi needs to report home now that his work is done.

An assassin has no business lingering after the fact. Illumi knows this.

He should slip away into the surrounding shadows and leave this place behind.

…Any second now, he'll go.

It's nothing but a sorry shame that someone who wasn't a target got caught up in the bomb. Additional carnage to help disguise the intended victim had been requested, though, and this client does love a spectacle.

So, really, no harm done, other than that which Illumi was tasked with.

…Why, then, are his feet refusing to move?

His eyes fall back down to Hisoka.

Without a doubt, Hisoka's got much more damage than the visible half-severed head. That heavy masonry on top of him probably has at least a few bones ground almost to dust, others snapped, not to mention more leaking blood and dark bruises buried.

But that's _really_ none of Illumi's business.

Illumi's business is leaving to catch up on rest.

Illumi's business is preparing for his next assignment.

Illumi's business _here_ is finished.

Illumi's business is _not_ Hisoka.

And Illumi's business is _definitely_ not stepping onto blood-soaked ground (he can feel it leaking into his _shoes_), shoving his shoulder under the biggest, bottommost chunk of building to lift it (it's damn _heavy_), and finagling Hisoka's mangled body free with a coordinated mix of hands and feet alike (he's just going to die _anyway_).

Somehow, though, that endeavor _becomes_ Illumi's business. _And_ he's done it without thought, before it really sinks in.

Oh well.

Rescue accomplished, Illumi slips himself free after Hisoka, letting the pile of rubble crash back down just shy of the tips of Hisoka's pointed shoes.

Illumi tips his head, taking Hisoka in from top to bottom, examining the full extent of the damage. He certainly _does_ look horribly squashed and scraped up, but it's not as bad as Illumi had been imagining. It could be much worse, all things considered.

That's…he doesn't know how to feel about that. He feels nothing, one way or the other. No relief. No grief.

This nothing he feels doesn't bear thinking about, so Illumi doesn't.

His fingers operate on automatic, fishing a handful of pins free from his jacket. Again he crouches by Hisoka's head, this time close enough – and with intent – to touch. He grasps at Hisoka's hair with one hand, tipping him forward until the jagged seams of that hideous wound meet. With his free hand, he pushes stabilizing pins through at various angles to hold the whole bloody mess together, bending the ends so they stay put.

Illumi isn't a doctor, but he's not completely incompetent at this kind of thing, either. (He can kill, after all, and knowing how _not_ to kill isn't that far of a jump off.)

So his finished product might not be the prettiest, but he has no doubt that it's functional. He's dealing with meager supplies, after all, he thinks he deserves a break in the aesthetics department.

The _important thing_ is that Hisoka, being as he's Hisoka, won't die – at least not from _this_ wound. At least not _right now_.

…Exactly why that's the important thing here, Illumi doesn't want to bother dwelling on. He has work to be getting on with, along with hands and shoes to be washing now, thanks to Hisoka.

So Illumi leaves him there, turning on his heel and striding away.

The amount of effort it takes to not look back is something he'll never admit to.

x

Illumi isn't supposed to care how Hisoka dies.

For Hisoka, he knows, it's the contrary. He's told Illumi – on countless occasions – that if Illumi were to die at anyone else's hands, Hisoka would "be inconsolably upset, my dear Illumi, I would cry for _minutes_, perhaps even _hours!_"

To which Illumi had always shrugged, or told him he was obnoxious, or raised a single eyebrow and challenged, "Oh, so you think _you're_ strong enough to kill me?" (This option would inevitably start a sparring session, which often led to bloodshed, which in turn would lead to sex.)

Lately, though….

Illumi has caught himself, on no less than _five_ separate occasions where his mind isn't supposed to be wandering, thinking of a weakened, crushed Hisoka, bleeding at the neck.

The mental image makes him…uncomfortable.

He feels _something_ that he can't ignore (no matter how hard he tries or how good he is at staying focused) at the thought of Hisoka possibly being dead right now.

Try and banish the persistent thought as he might, it sticks in his head as though affixed with bungee gum. Placating it with the knowledge that Hisoka has survived worse doesn't do any good, either. Nor does convincing himself that he doesn't care, because clearly, on some level, he _does_.

And therein lies the problem.

It's a problem that's been doing a fine job of keeping Illumi awake – not that he _tries_ to sleep much. For going on two and a half weeks straight now, he's been forcing himself on without rest, taking job after job in an attempt to _not_ think about Hisoka.

Twice Illumi gets the idea to send out feelers for him, and twice he shuts that idea down, because it's _pointless_.

Because if Hisoka is alive, he'll track Illumi down sooner or later. He always does.

And if he's not alive….

Well.

Needless to say, Illumi's 'working himself to exhaustion' plan isn't panning out so great. Opening the door to even more unwanted thoughts is all it's done so far, which has led to him getting distracted during a job, and now here he is! Limping back to his hotel, with a spare strip of cloth wrapped tight to staunch the flow of blood from his thigh.

He was careless. He lost concentration for only a _moment_ and his target got a hit in. His father will give him an earful at best for such a mistake, so Illumi hopes he never hears about it.

And! As if to make a bad night worse, Illumi's mind wanders off on its own accord as he walks. _Again_.

This time it's a memory that sucks him in, takes him back several years and plops him down into the breakfast nook of a different hotel, with sunlight streaming through and Hisoka seated across from him.

_"That's an awfully bland breakfast," Hisoka says, manicured nails tucked beneath his chin as he examines Illumi's plain oatmeal with a critical eye._

_Illumi shrugs, nonplussed and unsure why that matters to Hisoka at all. "It's enough to sustain me."_

_Eyes rolling, Hisoka picks up his fork and twirls it expertly between his fingers before digging back in to his overly sweet pile of crepes, whipped cream, and strawberries. "Dear Illu," he says, sugar dripping from his voice, "don't you do anything for the pleasure of it?"_

_"What do you mean?"_

_That question puts a certain dangerous glint in Hisoka's eye. "Well," here, he leans across the table, a plump red strawberry speared on the end of his fork and held to Illumi's lips, "isn't there anything you do, purely because it's fun for you?"_

_Picking up a hand, Illumi bats the fork out of his face. "Eating doesn't have to be fun."_

_"Oh, you're missing out on so much." Hisoka gives up on feeding Illumi and eats the strawberry himself, picking it off delicately with pristine white teeth._

_With another nonplussed shrug, Illumi goes back to his own meal. Intent on leaving Hisoka to his own devices, and actually following through. Illumi had been so much less easily distracted back then (presently, he laments the loss)._

_"But I'm not just talking about food, darling." Somehow, Hisoka's wound up with whipped cream on his fingertips, and he speaks between licking it from beneath pointed fingernails. "I mean life in general – don't you have any hobbies?"_

_"Probably."_

_"Oh?" Hisoka sits up straighter, looking enthralled. "But you won't tell me what they are?"_

_And Illumi can only look at him, eyes blank, more irritated at being kept from getting on with his day than anything else._

_That, though, is enough for Hisoka. His face slides right into sleazy territory, long legs uncrossing as he stands up from his seat, hips swaying with purpose as he crosses the short distance around the table's edge._

_"What say I go first? I'll give you an extreme example of the, ah…_pleasure _I'm talking about." His lean in as he speaks is sultry, lidded eyes lowered, loose-necked nightshirt drooping to show off his chest. "Maybe then you'll be more inclined to give this some thought."_

_Illumi tips his head, curiosity sparking. To this day, he can only cringe at whatever it was that made him abandon his oatmeal and say: "Okay."_

Because from there he had walked knowingly into a far more intimate relationship with Hisoka – one that started with getting sucked off under the breakfast table of some sunny hotel – and tonight as he hauls himself out of that memory, Illumi is absolutely sure it's at least partially to blame for his current predicament.

He's lucky no one attacked him on his way back, what with how lax his attention was on the return trip. Maybe he'll give in and sleep tonight, if only for a few hours.

Giving himself a mental shakedown, Illumi throws his all into being more alert and aware on his way up to the hotel room. The last thing he needs is for this night to be capped off by yet another avoidable disaster.

He feels worryingly lightheaded as he closes the door to his suite behind himself. Yeah, sleep is probably a good idea. He's too close to his limit, almost surpassing his previous record for staying awake.

Surely his errant thoughts will be easier to control after some rest. After a nice hard reset.

First thing's first, though, he has to sew up this wound. It'll heal quick enough, but proper stitches and ointment will help in that process. That in mind, he heads to the bathroom, retrieving the first aid kit. Fortunately, this one has an actual suture kit, which – his brain supplies _without him asking it to_ – is more than he'd bothered to gather for Hisoka.

Looking himself in the eye in the bathroom mirror, Illumi doesn't like what he sees.

Wide black eyes are rimmed with fatigue, skin too-pale and hair not shiny enough. His fingers don't clutch the medical supplies as tight as usual. A couple of his pins are stuck into his shirt crooked. If he strains he can see the very top of the bloodstained tear in his pants.

He's a wreck. This absolutely _cannot_ go on.

If it turns out that Hisoka is alive, then Illumi will…do what he has to.

In the meanwhile….

Turning away, he plants his supplies on the edge of the tub, takes off his pants, and then plants _himself_ on the edge of the tub. Time to get to work. Time to push Hisoka out of his brain, and _keep_ him out.

x

Illumi is partway through his second suture when he feels it.

His hands freeze in place, curved needle paused where it's dipped into his flesh. There's a familiar energy creeping closer, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge and sharpening all of his senses.

Oh, he _knows_ this presence alright.

Hates the rush of heat to his stomach upon sensing it, and the way it sets his heart beating just _that_ much faster. He fights to tamp both reactions down before the man responsible gets much closer and _realizes_.

Acting casual is the trick, here, but it seems Illumi's body is against him, no matter how well he's trained it. It must be too damn exhausted to listen. Because even his hands shake when he tries to resume the stitches on his thigh; he frowns down at them, the traitors.

That aura is on well and truly top of him, now. It's in his hotel bedroom, lingering outside the bathroom door.

"You might as well come in, Hisoka," he says, careful to keep his voice flat and eyes averted, "you made it this far already."

"Illumi~" Hisoka gushes, and sure enough there he is, strolling into the brightly lit bathroom, arms spread wide as if looking for a hug before his hands clasp together in glee. He's smiling from ear to ear as usual, eyes curved in cheer. "It's so good to see you!"

Illumi bites his tongue on a reply, sure that it would betray him just like his hands. He stays focused on his thigh, tying off his third suture.

Of course, the lack of response does nothing to deter Hisoka. He strides over to Illumi, standing with his hands braced on his hips, one of them cocked out to accentuate its curve. "I just wanted to thank you for my new choker," he says.

Against his better judgement, Illumi glances up, and Hisoka obliges him by tipping his chin back, showing off a gnarled, dark pink scar across his neck. It's punctuated by almost invisible hole-shaped marks along its edges here and there, but even without those, Illumi would recognize it.

"…You've had tackier accessories," he says at length. He's afraid that anything that's not a smart comment is bound to come across as somehow incriminating, and he can't have that.

Hisoka scoffs at him, unimpressed. He starts working nen between his fingers, a texture surprise to cover this newest imperfection. "They aren't all lifesaving, though."

Some small attempt is made to keep the sentence nonchalant – _maybe_ – but Illumi fights not to freeze at the implications of it, anyway.

The safest course of action here is – again – to say nothing. Illumi makes a noncommittal noise and goes back to his stitching – just three more sutures and he'll be done.

…He _can't stand_ the way his chest is threatening to flood with relief at the mere _sight_ of Hisoka. Pushing all of that away in his exhausted state is taxing, but Illumi does so for his own good. If he can just focus on his stitches, he'll be _fine_.

Hisoka, though, refuses to be ignored.

As usual.

Heaving a dramatic sigh, he lifts a leg over the edge of the tub to sit astride it, facing Illumi. It seems he's at least set on making a nuisance of himself in a different way, now – it's some small blessing that he let the whole 'lifesaving' matter drop. (Most likely, he was bored at Illumi's lack of reaction.)

Now, though, Hisoka is leaning in over Illumi's bloodied leg, tilting his head at the injury. "Oh my – what's this?" he asks, as if he's only just noticed it, when the scent of blood is probably what drew him here in the first place.

Illumi stops his work to pin Hisoka with what might be (what definitely is) the beginnings of a glare. "You're blocking my light."

"Whoops!" But Hisoka makes no move to sit back up. All he does is lift his face so that he can meet Illumi's eyes, his own sparkling with clear amusement. "Sorry, Illu dear. That's my mistake."

Only _then_ does he lean away, and Illumi frowns at him as he goes.

It doesn't surprise him at all when Hisoka speaks up before Illumi's even pulled the curved needle the whole way through on his second-to-last suture.

"Did a target do that to you?" he asks.

Illumi doesn't bother to dignify that with a response. The answer should be obvious, after all.

"It's rare to see you like this," Hisoka carries on in his usual lilting tone, "ordinarily, you don't let anyone close enough to hurt you."

It's a struggle to keep his teeth from grinding and his hands from slipping on the forceps and needle holder in his hands. As it is, he must leak some kind of dark aura out, because he can see a too-satisfied grin on Hisoka's face. He pulls the bloodlust back in, watching Hisoka shudder before letting his gaze fall back to his wound.

Damn him – damn that _Hisoka_. Illumi can't let this continue.

"I had a momentary lapse in judgement," he says, as casually as if he were discussing the weather. That should get his point across that this matter isn't to be discussed further.

"Oh?" Even without looking at him, Illumi can feel the dangerous grin that spreads over Hisoka's face as he speaks. "You had better be careful those don't happen more often."

Illumi pulls the knot on his final suture too-tight. "They won't." He won't _let_ them.

Hisoka's answering smile is wide enough that his eyes close on it. "Good! I worry about you, you know."

Now it's Illumi's turn to scoff, standing up as he does so and heading over to the sink to sterilize all of his supplies. That's another sentence too dangerous to reply to. Hisoka is full of those tonight.

"What?" Hisoka asks, clearly feigned hurt coloring voice as he has a grand old time drawing his own conclusions. He approaches Illumi from behind, and in the mirror, Illumi can see him press a dramatic hand over his heart. "You don't want me to worry about you?"

The urge to snap at Hisoka is growing, and Illumi blames his overtired body. He says nothing, though, staying resolutely silent because he has a freshly stitched injury to clear residual blood from. Lifting his leg, he props his knee at the edge of the counter so that he can better see what he's doing as he runs a careful washcloth over the wound.

Hisoka's chin comes to rest on his shoulder as he works. "Because I don't think I can stop," he murmurs, plush lips soft at Illumi's ear, warm breath ghosting over his cheek.

Illumi sighs heavily, dropping the bloodied rag into the sink where it splats bits of red against the side. Let Hisoka do what he wants – let Hisoka _say_ what he wants – Illumi won't be drawn into this…this _trap_.

He slips his knee down, back to standing on both feet, and turns away from that chin on his shoulder to fetch a clean, dry towel. Keeping his back to Hisoka, Illumi pours more concentration than is probably necessary into patting his thigh dry, blocking out the disappointed huff from behind him.

_You __**should**__ stop_, Illumi wants to say – but he doesn't, because that would be the same as admitting to things he'd rather not acknowledge in the first place.

His towel is discarded to the floor and he reaches for the ointment to his left on the counter. The plan, at this point, is to ignore Hisoka until he gets bored and leaves…but really, it's ridiculously naïve of him to think that'll work.

A warm, smooth hand glides under Illumi's, landing on top of the ointment before he can get to it.

"Let me?"

Illumi leaves his hand resting a hair's breadth above Hisoka's for half a moment too long. Turning on a dime as he pulls his hand back, he leans against the counter, eyes squinted at Hisoka and his offer alike.

That little tub of cream is held aloft between slender fingertips, pointed nails jutting up around it like a jagged fence.

And Hisoka's still _smiling_.

"Okay," Illumi spits, against (almost) every fiber of his being.

For a moment, Hisoka stands still. He doesn't move from where he's close enough to be nearly pressed up against Illumi, which is _hardly_ an ideal ointment-applying position.

So, eager to get this over with, Illumi slips his leg out from between Hisoka and the counter, lifting it until he can fit his knee to Hisoka's hip, baring his injured thigh for access. Through it all he keeps his eyes locked with Hisoka's, and watches those golden eyes morph from playful to something deeper.

This is, in fact, another mistake. But Illumi is too tired to care.

With utmost reverence, Hisoka unscrews the lid of the ointment, dipping in a finger for a small dollop. The lid is screwed back on with a flourish, Hisoka depositing the tub back onto the counter, his arm brushing all along Illumi's as he goes.

The _shiver_ that sends down Illumi's spine is barely stopped before it reaches fruition. "Get on with it."

"So cranky," Hisoka tuts, moving _closer_, hips forcing Illumi's thigh to splay to the side some as their groins meet. He tilts his head, mouth aligned with Illumi's but not close enough to touch. "You _must_ be tired."

Illumi nudges Hisoka's hip with his leg, hands stuck fast clutching the counter on either side of himself. It turns out _irritation_ is the best repellent for any leftover relief at seeing Hisoka alive.

Chuckling, Hisoka brings his hand down, letting it rest feather-light on Illumi's thigh. His covered finger presses gentle to the side of Illumi's cut, and from there he rubs ointment over it with small circular motions. When his work is finished, he lifts both hands, fingers spread wide. "All done!" he announces –

– Before _grinding his hips forward_.

Ignoring the rush of excited heat that shoots south, Illumi yanks his hands from the counter, grabbing at Hisoka's shoulders and shoving him away. "You're intolerable."

"Why thank you~."

The impulse to go out of his way to shoulder past Hisoka as he storms out of the bathroom hits, but Illumi deems it a waste of energy and makes a more efficient beeline for the doorway instead. "Your personality is awful," he bites instead, for all the good it'll do.

Sure enough, Hisoka is unaffected. Sounds _chipper_, even, when he says, "That's what you love about me."

At that, Illumi pauses halfway out the door. Dizziness hits him, no doubt a product of frustration and exhaustion teaming up to do a number on him, both problems exacerbated by _Hisoka_.

_Hisoka_, who shouldn't be throwing those types of words around so callously. Doesn't he know how dangerous something like that could be? Doesn't he know what Illumi will do if he continues to make such dreadful accusations?

He has to put a stop to this.

Spinning back around (ignoring the way it almost makes him stumble on his injured thigh and spinning head) Illumi marches up to an all-too-pleased Hisoka.

"I don't love _anything_ about you."

"Hmm," is all Hisoka says, tipping his head aside and narrowing his eyes on another grin. That infuriating, contemplative look taking over, and Illumi wants to claw it off of his face.

But he feels a growing urgency for _sleep_, and so he _doesn't_. It can wait for tomorrow.

For now it might be enough to leave Hisoka like that: thinking he's won when he absolutely hasn't. It'll have to do. Illumi got his main point across, whether Hisoka wants to interpret it completely wrong or not. The rest of this damage can be cleaned up in the morning, first thing, if Hisoka sticks around that long.

So Illumi turns for the door – but before he even makes it two steps, his vision blackens at the edges, knees giving out under him.

Sturdy arms catch him around the waist as he falls, wrapping tight to keep him from hitting the floor.

And that's the last Illumi knows.

The second Illumi wakes up, he knows that something is _wrong_. Very horribly wrong.

Because he feels _warm_. And…_safe_….

His body is cradled lovingly against something solid that's radiating a pleasant heat. Another body, from the feel of it – but while Illumi has been dressed in pajamas (dammit Hisoka), his bedmate is naked as far as he can tell (_dammit Hisoka_).

Nudity notwithstanding, Illumi is…comfortable. He's clutched to a firm chest, head pillowed on pectorals, a steady heartbeat beneath his ear. The arms around him keep him nicely cocooned beneath the blankets, and his legs are curled up, knees staggered with two firm thighs.

"Good morning," Hisoka singsongs before Illumi can even open his eyes. His sharp nails scrape pleasingly over Illumi's scalp as his fingers trail through long, dark hair.

Illumi grunts at him by way of a greeting. _Dammit_ Hisoka.

"Here I thought you were a morning person," Hisoka jibes.

It would take too much effort to push him off the bed, no matter how hard the impulse hits Illumi. And he's like a human space heater, anyway. There are worse pillows out there. Illumi decides that he'll let Hisoka stay put, for now.

But also….

This is quite an unfortunate turn of events.

As he lies here, in the late morning hours (because he's _slept in_, dammit Hisoka), Illumi handles the unpleasant business of taking stock of himself and his feelings. Now that he's rested, he doesn't feel quite as awful putting a name to the dangerous affection that's been growing inside him, though it still isn't _good_ by any stretch of the word.

Because this – waking up cuddled close to Hisoka – is _nice_. And that _can't_ be.

With a heavy sigh, Illumi resigns himself.

He opens his eyes to see miles of smooth, pale skin. A glance upward shows him that Hisoka has removed the texture surprise from his neck, leaving that ugly scar bare to the world (or maybe just to Illumi). Golden eyes sparkle at him from a face clear of makeup, red hair loose around it.

"I'm going to have to kill you," Illumi says, because it's only polite to inform him of this new development.

Beneath his cheek, he feels that heart start thundering away. Hisoka draws in a deep breath, chest expanding, and as he lets it out his whole body shudders.

"_Oh_," he groans, "do please make it fun for me, darling."

x

"By the way," Illumi says, as Hisoka is hanging up the phone after ordering breakfast (two orders of crepes with whipped cream and strawberries), "the stuff you put in the ointment didn't knock me out. I was just so tired that I fell asleep."

The way that Hisoka's face falls into a pout is nothing short of gratifying. "Drat," he mutters. "I was so sure I found a poison you weren't immune to yet."

This time, Illumi pens _him_ in, forcing his back to the wall just to the side of their bed. He's still gratuitously nude against Illumi's pajamas, and Illumi can feel that overeager cock pressing into his stomach as he aligns himself fully with Hisoka's front.

"Keep looking."

* * *

**A/N:** Still trying to get the hang of these two, ^^

Thanks for reading!


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